A Lion's Tale_ Around the World in Spandex - Chris Jericho [38]
We began our interview and when I was asked about the upcoming show, I said, “You know, there’s a fine line between a pat on the back and a kick in the pants, so let’s dance!” The interviewer was like, “Huh?” Lance was like, “Huh?” I was like, “Huh?” I didn’t know what to say next and since I didn’t have Diamond Dave to help me, I blurted out the only thing I could think of: “Next week we’ve got midgets coming!”
Bob Brown equated midgets with boffo box office and had told me to “push the shit out of the little bastards.”
After discovering that the Roth style of promo wasn’t for me, I learned an important lesson—the first of three seminal moments in my promo development. I had done an interview about my first match with Bulldog and I was talking about how old and slow he was, just burying him. I thought it was pretty good, until I walked back to the dressing room and Bulldog stopped me in front of everyone. “What the hell are you doing? Yeah I’m old and everybody knows it. But I want you to think about this. If I beat you, and I WILL be beating you, then you just got beat by an old man. If you beat me, and you WILL NOT be beating me, then you just beat up an old man. If you talk about how much experience I have and then I cheat to beat you, then at least you got beaten by an experienced vet. And if you beat me, well fuck, then you just beat an experienced vet. The way it stands right now, you just pissed all over yourself. You look like a fool either way.”
He walked away muttering to himself, and I realized he was right. The first big lesson I learned about promos (get out your pens, kids) was: “Never Totally Bury Your Opponent.” You can tell jokes and insult them all you want, but if you don’t build them up to some extent, you’re just burying yourself.
The CNWA locker room was filled with guys I recognized from the Stampede roster and I was awestruck to be changing and shooting the breeze with all of these wrestlers that I’d watched on the tube. Johnny Smith, the Great Gama, Gerry Morrow, Bad News Allen. Bad News looked like a bigger, meaner Ving Rhames, who demanded respect and got it from every member of the locker room. He had a hot cougar of a wife named Helen who I had the good fortune of meeting when I was leaving the building, after everyone else had cleared out. I was talking to her and turning up the Jeri-Charm, when from out of nowhere, News appeared like an apparition. He was wearing a head-to-toe suit of red leather, with earrings in both ears and one of those Jim Brown brimless hats; and he was staring a wormhole through me.
The Jeri-Charm instantly turned into Jeri-Terror. I was scared to death. Time stood still, and I strained to come up with something clever to say to break the iceberg.
“Hey Bad News, how many earrings do you have?”
The tradition of saying stupid things to wrestlers upon first meeting continued.
Shortly afterward CNWA lost their TV deal and while they kept running shows, the attendance declined. With the TV deal gone there was no reason to stay in Calgary, so Mike called another connection and this time the 1-2-3 Stooges sailed off to California to find our fame and fortune.
We drove for three days to get to our match at a Spanish flea market in Pomona, just outside Los Angeles. The ring announcer couldn’t speak English and introduced me to the crowd of dozens as Chris HerraChico. Paul Heyman still calls me that.
Mike and I were working Bret and an old Mexican wrestler named the Great Goliath